Immutable
by Victoria to Worthing
Summary: Sequel to Inexpressible. Daire. Desmond sees a fate that he's not sure he wants to avoid. Claire wants to be seen. Romantic! Please R&R!


Disclaimer: Not mine!

Listen to "Be Be Your Love" by Rachel Yamagata for ideal background music to this fic!

Spoilers up to 3x04. I sort of assumed that Des is having visions of the future… maybe it will be something else on the show, but that's the assumption I worked with for this fic! I hope y'all like it!

Desmond had been afraid when he had known the future and then seen it come true, but nothing had ever unsettled him as much as the knowledge of this one event did. Disasters and dramatics were one thing—this was something else, something much stranger to his recent life.

At first he tried to dismiss it as a wish. He had been looking at her, thinking about her, even talking to her a little when he got a chance… in other words, when Charlie wasn't around. He had to admit that he liked their few stolen moments of conversation. Seeing the smile blossom on her sweet face when he talked to her made his heart jump a little.

But that's all it was, just the fact that she was pretty, that she was forbidden, that she was there. Always there, with her hair and skin like the golden sand and her bright blue eyes like the sky and the water combined. It was unfortunate that she was stuck on the island, but it certainly made a nice background for her.

Surely it was these thoughts that made him think he knew what he knew.

But he _did_ know. He had seen it, felt it, everything.

Claire, in the bright sun, on a deserted part of the beach, falling into his arms and kissing him.

He tried to pretend it was a dream or a fantasy, but it was the future. Unless he did something, it would happen.

He had to do something.

Didn't he?

Yes, yes, of course he did. She was with Charlie. And even though no one but God knew where or how she was now, he had Penny. Somewhere, on the earth, or maybe no longer on it, she must be there.

But this island… he couldn't sail away from it. No one seemed to be able to escape from it. Would they stay forever, growing old and wrinkled and staid in the sun, waiting for lovers that had vanished off the earth or putting up with bad lovers on the beach because they were there? It didn't seem right.

But letting his vision happen felt wrong, too.

So he began to ignore her. No more sign language. No more hidden whispers. No more playful glances. No glances at all. When she caught his eye accidentally, he put on a cool face with no recognition. Claire was no longer special.

But all this did was make her more special, more forbidden, more maddening. He had felt her kiss without really feeling it, and now he had to push it away every day, no relief, no fulfillment, and no way to explain any of it to her.

He tried to feel like it didn't matter. He hated that it did. There hadn't been anything to their… interaction. It wasn't even substantial enough to warrant the world "relationship." She was just some pretty girl on an island, with a baby and another man and no need of him.

That's what he told himself, for days and days, until that night.

He was lying close to the fire in the spot he had appropriated since his arrival back at the beach. It was a little isolated from everyone else, both by choice and because of the simple fact that he had joined an already-formed cluster. He wasn't quite used to being around people again yet. It was exciting, though.

He was lying on his back, looking up at the stars, letting his mind wander, when he heard footsteps. He half-raised himself from his position and looked around.

It was Claire, alone, wearing the tank top she slept in and an unreadable expression.

"Claire?" he asked stupidly, sitting all the way up. "What is it? Are you all right?" He mentally ordered his stomach to stop churning with anticipation.

"You tell me." She fell to her knees, just a foot or so away from him. He considered sitting on his hands to prevent himself from reaching out for her. Even that might not work.

"What do you mean?"

"Why have you been ignoring me? What did I do? Did Charlie do something?" She had her hands on her knees and was leaning forward now, her expression angry, but the view was still beautiful—Claire by firelight, all that soft lightness burnished and shadowed with gold.

"I just didn't want to… lead you on." He knew it sounded stupid as soon as he said it.

"Lead me on? What are you talking about? We were just… talking. Barely even that."

"I know." He took a deep breath. "I know that. But what are you doing here?"

"I told you, I want to know what's wrong."

"It bothers you this much, that you get up in the middle of the night?" He knew he was pressing her, but he couldn't help it.

"OK, fine, never mind, I'll leave. I shouldn't have come anyway." She stood up hastily, dusting her sandy hands off and chewing on her lower lip anxiously.

_Let her go_, he thought to himself.

"Claire, wait!" he said aloud. He jumped up and grabbed her hand. She looked stunned, and he felt the same way. He had only touched her once before.

"It's just… I can't…" He didn't know how to explain what he meant without sounding like he was presumptuous, thinking she cared about him as much as he unwillingly cared about her. Maybe she was only there out of friendly curiosity or something.

"I can't give you anything," he finally blurted out. "I don't know a thing about kids. I'm still a bit barmy from being in the hatch for three years. And… there's a girl back home. I mean, there was. I loved her… I love her. I can't give you anything. I shouldn't have acted like… like I could."

"I'm not asking for anything," she said, in her sweet breathless voice, but before he could even think about what she had said, she was in his arms, her head laid on his shoulder, her little hands pressed against his back. It was wonderful. It was strange. It was nothing like holding Penny had been. It was almost exactly like his vision of the future. But that was during the day, in another place, and she had kissed him first… it wasn't like the vision at all. Maybe he could still prevent it.

Yes, prevent it, that's what he wanted to do. That's what he told himself as he tangled his fingers in her hair, admiring the way the gold strands rippled against his tanned skin. That's what he told himself as he pressed her closer to him and mumbled her name into her neck, as he felt her shiver at the feeling of his breath on her skin.

"I want this," she suddenly said, and he was pressed so close to her that he could feel her body expel the breath to speak, could feel her mouth move, and he had to stifle a groan.

"Want what? What is this?" _Oh, please don't answer that_, he thought.

She pulled back to look him in the eyes, and words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush. "The way you look at me. Like a woman. Not like a pain or a responsibility or a helpless little girl, not like someone to take care of, not like Charlie's girlfriend, or Aaron's mum. You're the only one who acts like I'm something wonderful on my own. I'm so lonely without someone feeling that way about me. I miss it so much. Please, just look at me sometimes, or think about me. Something. And I'll just know you are and feel better." She paused, gasping for breath. "Oh, I can't believe this, I'm so pathetic." She groaned and tried to pull out of his arms, but he wasn't willing to release her, so she sighed and let her head fall onto his shoulder again, hiding her face.

"No, no, you're not, you're perfect. I wish you could see how I think about you sometimes." A rueful grin flashed across his face and he chuckled. "But I suppose that might be a bit embarrassing for me."

He felt her laugh a little, and he gave her waist a squeeze. "No matter what, know that I'll be thinking about…" How could he explain all he felt about her? "Thinking about you," he finished lamely.

"I think of you, too," she whispered, and he cursed the chill of pleased surprise that went all over his body.

"Maybe you should think of me back at your tent. What if someone wakes up?" _Someone like your boyfriend… or your baby_, he thought miserably, feeling his mind slowly losing the exalted state it had entered when he took her into his arms.

"I should. You're right." She slowly moved out his arms and took a step back. "Goodbye, I guess." Such inadequate words for what her embrace had expressed.

"Goodbye." He raised his hand to wave, then realized how stupid it was to wave at such a close proximity.

"I'm coming back, you know. Sometime. I have to."

Words he both feared and adored.

"I know," he answered simply.

Then, just as she turned to leave, he grabbed her hand once more, pulled her to him again, and kissed her full on the lips, tasting her and caressing her like he had known he would someday. That vision of the future was immutable—not because of fate or failure, but because it was the only thing he wanted. And for a few moments more, Desmond was happy.


End file.
